Icarus
by Ice Queen1
Summary: "What do you want me to say, Johnny? That I'm no good without you?" He didn't have to say it, because they both knew it was true. Post 1x13, so spoilers for the finale. Mentions of self harm. Prison story. Cameron whump.
1. Chapter 1

So I didn't get to see the finale as it aired as I was on vacation out of the country. But holy damn. I WAS SO CLOSE TO THE TRUTH ABOUT SEBASTIAN AND ALISTAIR BLACK IT ISN'T EVEN FUNNY. I was only a generation off with the thief relative. Anyway, I know a lot of people want to jump on the "Hate Johnny" bandwagon, but I really don't think he's as mad as he makes out to be when he punches him. I think he's mad, sure. But I also have a long dissertation about why I think Johnny has a long game planned that doesn't end well for MW - and I think he sticks Cameron temporarily in prison to give himself a running start in trying to beat her at her own game. Anyway. This is a stand alone (possibly a chapter 2 with Johnny's point of view, or he's going to get his own stand alone - we'll see). I still love both the boys, but this is the longest piece I've written for Cam's point of view, and for Kay. Kay is ungodly difficult for me for some reason. Anyway. ONWARDS!

* * *

They hadn't believed him.

Surprise, surprise, right?

Johnny made a very believable _him_ – he'd done it most of his life, after all. At this point, it was probably more reflexive to **pretend** to be _Cameron_ than it was to **be** _Johnny._

He hadn't made much of an effort to convince the guards – he needed a phone to persuade anybody that mattered that Johnny has taken his place outside the bars, but Johnny had already used up his one phone call when Cameron had called him earlier.

Besides. The more he tried to convince them that he was _Cameron_ and not _Jonathan_ , the crazier he looked. The crazier he sounded. And he already felt like was standing at the very edge of a very high cliff, staring into the abyss as the ground started to crumble beneath him.

And now he had no safety net to catch him.

He wasn't sure he wanted to be saved.

He allowed the guards to maneuver and steer him back to gen pop. The route was familiar enough – he knew every inch of this prison. Inside. Outside. Beneath. The upgrades and ruins. Between the walls and underneath the floor. He'd studied every inch. Every aspect. Every _single. Microscopic. Detail_. Down to the type of concrete and what could be used to erode it the quickest. The quietest. The space between Johnny's cell and the outside of the prison. The types of bars. The alarms. The codes. The people. The time it took from one guard to make his rounds, how long the other stopped for coffee.

No matter what he'd told his brother, breaking him out was _always_ an option. Because life on the run with his brother was really no different than life in the shadows on the road. And Cameron had made _sure_ that if – _when_ – the FBI let him down, he would be able to save his brother.

He couldn't even be upset that Jonathan left him here. Wasn't this where bad people were supposed to be?

It was actually _his_ original plan. He'd pitched it to Johnny his first night in jail, with bruises still fresh on his brother's face, his own eyes bleary from the red eye he'd caught from Vegas. Johnny said no.

Escape, yes.

Switching places? No.

But Cameron pushed – pushed until his brother had punched the dividing glass between them in the visitation room hard enough to fracture his knuckles, yelling at him to _stop saying it_ until the guards dragged him away.

It hadn't occurred to him until Dina pointed it out that Cameron was just offering that their act be switched _permanently_ – that he was asking Johnny to keep up the act of _Cameron_ forever.

That hadn't been at all what Cameron was thinking about. He was thinking he could pretend to be Johnny just this once, when it really mattered. That desperate times called for desperate measures, and a life as someone else – even _him_ – was better than a life still stuck in a cage for something he didn't do.

Because Johnny didn't deserve to be behind bars. No when he hadn't done anything wrong. Other than let Sebastian bully him into staying with Cameron, even when he didn't want to. When Sebastian died, Cameron should've just given up the idea of the Disappearing Boy (Man, at this point in their life, he supposed) and stuck with other illusions. Making planes and box cars disappear. Walking through the Wall of China. Flying over the crowd of Times Square.

But he'd been selfish. He didn't know _how_ to exist without Johnny. He didn't _trust_ anyone besides Johnny. Johnny was the one who kept him grounded. He was Daedalus to his Icarus. Whenever Cameron started to feel like he was coming unglued – like a single push of air would make him shatter into a thousand little pieces, when he was too tired to keep running at the breakneck speed of always needing _more_ because if he stood still, all his nightmares would catch up to him and reality would crush him as surely as their father tried to crush them both – _Johnny_ was the one who caught him. Johnny helped him _fly_.

And the wings he'd given Cam would never break from something so benign as the heat of the sun.

"Yo, Black. I need to discuss something with you."

The voice was unfamiliar. But loud, and too close for comfort.

Cameron blinked, realizing he was standing in the yard, and no longer in the corridor being escorted on either arm.

He didn't even know how long he'd been standing there.

He felt like he wasn't there at all.

"Hey – you listenin' man?" the same voice questioned. It belonged to a man easily twice his size. Broader at the shoulders than any man had a right to be. He seemed…angry? Cameron always did have problems judging other peoples' emotions.

He could rarely name his own.

He didn't answer, and the man seemed to take it as an invitation that Cameron was listening.

He wasn't.

But the man spoke anyway.

Bits and pieces filtered through the numbing haze. Something about helping out another inmate. Helping him…do something he probably shouldn't be doing.

Like 'he'd done with that other guy'.

Things started to click into place. They thought he was Johnny. They wanted _Johnny_ to help another inmate escape. Because if Johnny didn't, he was going back to the infirmary with something worse than just a broken rib.

Broken ribs and black eyes and a hollow "I'm fine" flashed through Cameron's memory.

Johnny had _lied_.

Cameron's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he listened to the man make demands of his brother. The words started to blur and fade as Cameron stared at the other inmate.

"Stop eyeballing me, boy," the man threatened.

And suddenly he wasn't looking at a nameless inmate.

He was looking at Sebastian Black.

The man who made their lives a living hell and still made Cameron fight with all he had for just a single word of approval. A nod of respect. A _good job_ or _well done_. The man who made him believe that what he was forcing his sons to do wasn't monstrous. Wasn't cruel.

The man who convinced him that what he made them do was _fun_.

"I said –"

The inmate didn't get any further.

Cameron kicked, as hard and as violently as he possibly could at the man's private area because _Sebastian Black's sons didn't fight fair_ and he wasn't trying to defend himself. He was defending _Johnny_. Because _Johnny_ is who he was behind these bars.

He wanted to hurt something. Some _one_. To make them bleed. To make them suffer.

Because he didn't know how to do it alone.

The man went down in an instant, too stunned and in enough pain he was trying to suck in air that wasn't coming, and Cameron didn't give it a chance to.

He was sick of being a negotiator. He was tired of trying to keep peace in a war. He was _done_ with being pushed, with being pulled, with being forced to dance at the end of a string like a puppet with no will of his own.

And he was done with letting people try and bully Johnny into doing their dirty work.

Even if it was himself.

 _There are no strings on me_.

He hadn't realized he'd shouted it out loud until days later when Kay watched the security tapes with him. He hadn't even heard the hoots and hollers and jeers from the rest of the inmates as they circled up for a fight.

He'd only heard the crack of bones beneath his hands. The squelch of blood on mashed and ruined skin. The audible pop of a broken tooth, the wet gasps between blood stained lips that split and tore beneath his fists as he rained down blow after blow with twenty years of pent up rage behind them.

Sebastian Black was dead an in the ground several years gone – but that didn't stop the surge of vindictive wrath that washed away everything else in Cameron's soul, filling the horrible, aching hollowness Johnny had left behind. The anger he'd kept at bay for his entire life came surging forwards like a flood, surrounding him, dragging him down with it until there was nothing else.

Blood pounded in his ears, washed his vision in red. Strong hands gripped him on either side as they yanked him backwards off of the ruin of a man beneath his fists.

He dimly heard someone say that it was a week in isolation for that. Maybe longer, if they were feeling unkind. He didn't argue when they dragged him along, but he didn't help either. His brain was already disconnecting from reality, like a child letting go of a balloon. He wasn't here. There was nothing here.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving him alone in the darkness. He didn't even bother to stand. He laid where they dropped him, staring unblinking up at the ceiling.

His attention skipped. His mind checked out. He was untethered to the world, and there was nothing to bring him back down.

 _Be careful, Icarus_ , a voice not his own whispered in his head. _You're soaring too high_.

He held his hand up in the darkness, staring through his bloodied fingers to the ceiling until they started to blur.

 _There's no sun in here to burn my wings_. _How do I get back down_?

A drop of blood dripped from his hand, spattering on his cheek.

 _You clip them yourself._

He let his hand drop against the concrete floor, the pain distant and not his own.

He hit it again. Harder. This time it felt real. Like it was his own.

He hit the floor again, _harder_ , and felt something give way as his vision filled with a kaleidoscope of colors as he hit it again.

And again and again and _again_ and **_again_**.

He kicked at the metal frame of the bed until it bent. He rocked his head back until his hair started to stick and his vision began to dull.

And when his body betrayed him and refused to move he screamed into the darkness.

* * *

It took them 36 hours to realize it wasn't Cameron who said good-bye at the Archive.

Thirty six hours to realize that the man the prison held in isolation wasn't Jonathan.

If Kay hadn't been so upset, she would've realized sooner. She would've seen the differences between them.

Cameron would never be that calm – not after the manic display of energy at the office when she'd seen him freak out at the marshals coming to escort Jonathan back to prison. Cameron would never walk away like that. Not from Jonathan. Not from everything and everyone.

Kay still wasn't so sure Jonathan had either. Joining forces with the woman he'd tried to kill on multiple occasions, who'd tried to get him to kill his brother (perhaps not purposely, but incidentally with the vault) seemed like too much of a leap.

She kept her eye out on the news for unidentified female bodies in the Hudson.

Dina had called her when the prison called her, unable to reach Cameron as medical proxy for Jonathan.

It hadn't taken long to realize what happened. At least…at bare minimum. She wasn't sure if Cameron bit off more than he could chew and swapped places with Jonathan, or if Jonathan had pulled the bait and switch on his own.

"We're not sure when it happened – or how," the guard was trying to explain as he lead them down the snaking corridors towards the isolation unit. "I mean, obviously last time Cameron came to check in with him, but we still don't know how anyone didn't catch it. Jonathan had been acting strange as soon as the marshals dropped him back off, but…"

"It doesn't matter," Kay interrupted. "We're taking him with us."

"Of course, of course, I mean…yeah, that's probably best…"

Kay fought the urge to snarl _ya think_? But remained tenuously professional.

"Um, so, I gotta warn you. He doesn't look so great. But he wouldn't let us take him to medical for treatment either, which is why we were calling Cameron – Jonathan, I guess – for medical proxy permission to treat."

Kay felt her stomach drop a little more, and Mike put a comforting hand on her arm.

"He'll be fine," he whispered. "It's Cameron, right?"

Except she'd seen how quickly Cameron could spiral.

When the door opened, she couldn't help putting her hand to her mouth.

…that was a lot of blood.

Spattered everywhere. On the floor. On the walls. On the back of the door.

All over Cameron.

It took her a minute to even find him in the small cell. The bed frame was smashed and dented, the mattress ripped apart and flung to the far corner. There was a dent in the holding tank of the toilet. And in the corner where the cot used to attach to the wall was Cameron's 6 and a half foot frame, folded up tighter than any grown man should be able to.

"We'll take it from here," she heard Mike say, and she was eternally grateful for him stepping up because she was already inside the cell, crouching next him and trying not to think about how he had yet to look up.

Or move.

His hands were ruined. Those once flawless fingers were going to be horrifically scarred. She could see the bones of his knuckles through the loose flaps of flesh barely hanging on. There was dried blood down either side of his neck, and she could see where his hair matted and stuck at the back. That explained the largest pool of blood in the middle of the floor with bits of hair. She shuddered to think how hard he must have hit it, or how long he must have lain there for the blood to congeal enough that it pulled out bits of hair when he moved.

"Cameron?" she whispered, and carefully touched his knee where he was propping his elbows up. He hardly twitched.

"Cam?" she tried again. She wasn't sure if he was catatonic or out and out unconscious from shock and blood loss. Neither would surprise her. She carefully touched her fingers to his chin, lifting his head up to see if his eyes were even open and was startled to find they were.

Open, but unseeing. He looked straight past her, unblinking and unregistering, staring a thousand miles away.

"Cameron…it's me," she said quietly. "It's Kay. Kay and Mike. We've come to take you home."

 _That_ got a reaction, and his gaze flicked to hers, confusion clouding the once brilliant grey.

"Cameron?"

He took a shuddering breath, and held his mangled hands out to her, palms down as if trying to show her the damage he'd done – as if she could've missed it.

"I'm…" he began, voice rough and raw. Kay remembered what the guards had mentioned about him screaming himself hoarse after he'd worn himself out thrashing the walls and everything else he could reach.

"I'm _not good_ without Johnny…"

* * *

So thanks to the Cocky Undead/Buckky on Tumblr for letting me spit ball plot lines for this. I really like the idea of Cameron being neuro atypical, but in this I'm just going with shock, recrimination, and depressive episode. I like the idea that Sebastian was enough of a dick to make Jonathan stick around by using his brother as blackmail and I like him training Cameron to be so reliant on Johnny that he can't function without him (because I have a thing for jackass dad tropes). It's also pretty interesting psychological warfare. Anyway - let me know what you think! Feel like chatting about Deception, feel free to come find me on Tumblr as disappearinginq!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I've been in a bit of a writing slump for pretty much every fandom I'm in right now. But so many people wanted a second chapter with Jonathan's point of view, this sort of ran away from me. Special thanks to WinterRainbow who puts up with my random theories and plot ideas at all hours of the day and night with these two brothers. Anyways. Onwards!

* * *

It was a little strange, to be walking around without trying to avoid cameras or people. His skin still itched like he should be wearing something much bulkier than just his jacket and shirt to hide how similar his frame was to Cam's, and he still hadn't gotten used to the idea he could be indoors without sunglasses on, but old habits die hard.

And the situation he was walking into wasn't exactly unfamiliar.

Except the part where Sebastian wasn't around to berate him for trying to walk away from this family. Or guilt him into the fact that the reason why Cam was in the hospital again was because of _him_.

Good thing Jonathan had _that_ covered all on his own.

He took the stairs rather than the elevator to the floor the reception told him his brother was on. Either the FBI hadn't put out an APB on him (which, given their current track record for doing _anything_ marginally competent, seemed likely) or the nurse at the desk didn't watch the news, but no one said anything about Cameron going to check on himself, or evil doppelganger inquiring about his other self.

It also probably helped that he read the room assignment upside down in her ledger while he flirted with her and made his own way up to the fourth floor. Post op. That…that didn't bode well, but it also wasn't surprising. Or maybe he was just trying not to let the idea that for once it really _was_ his fault Cameron was in here.

Alone.

He thought he would have more time. He was so sure after seeing how much Agent Daniels cared, how Cameron leaned on Jordan or how Dina made sure the team stayed a _team_ despite all he'd done to tear them apart that _maybe_ it wouldn't matter if he left. Or, given the way he _did_ leave, that anger would've delayed Cameron's reaction until after the FBI came to fish him out like he knew they would.

No one could mistake Cameron for Jonathan. Not even their parents. Not even the Mystery Woman whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember.

He stopped on the landing for the fourth floor, hand hovering over the panic bar on the door. He remembered the Mystery Woman telling him about Cameron winding up in the hospital over injuries incurred at the prison, giggling dismissively about Sebastian Black's favorite son not being able to stand a single day in lock up, and how pitifully weak he was and how he _deserved_ what he got.

Jonathan wasn't even entirely sure what happened in the next ten minutes. It was sort of a blurred, red, _violent_ haze because for those ten minutes…she wasn't a person to him at all. For all of her hate towards Sebastian over a perceived wrong twenty years ago, she didn't realize that she was the closest to _being_ **him,** even out of his own children.

He thought Cameron would be…well, not _safe_ , because no matter where Cameron was, danger wasn't far behind, and so far working with the FBI he'd been kidnapped twice, shot (once by _them_ ), almost blown up and that was only what Cameron _told_ him about. But he didn't have a lot of options. He wasn't good at 'winging it' like his brother, he liked having plans. He liked being able to plot out everything and anything involved before acting, but when Cameron came to him that day in prison, a whirl of motion and half thought through plans to get him out of prison now that the FBI had let them both down…he didn't have time to plan.

He _had_ to act.

The Mystery Woman and Cameron forced his hand from either side – if he said no to Cameron and stayed where he was, he would be unable to stop her from going after his brother again. She'd done it more than once already, once from their _home_ , and he'd barely escaped with his life every time. He wasn't even sure what had happened for her to electrocute Cam, but if she'd done it once, she would surely manage it again. He couldn't leave his brother with his _utterly incompetent_ FBI friends against her.

Not after seeing the utter hatred she had for him for what amounted to absolutely nothing. Not after seeing how readily willing she was to sacrifice him for _money_ and revenge on a dead man.

He needed Cameron where eyes were on him 24/7 – at least, until he caught up with the Woman. After that, he could keep an eye on _her_ and keep her as far away from Cam as possible. He was willing to bet more rather than less guards at the prison were unassociated with Mystery Woman and her machinations of world dominance and criminal empire building. The prisoners he'd already managed to…not _befriend_ , but as close as he was ever going to get, they would keep an eye out for him in the short interim Cameron would've been stuck there. They would notice the difference in him even if the guards didn't. And if they didn't, Cameron could defend himself as easily as he could in a brawl, and that would mean isolation – which again, would be short, because the first person they would call would be "Cameron", find him unreachable, and call the FBI, who would come down to check and realize what had happened.

And then Cameron…the loveable little shit…he'd come in with his plan of breaking him out and going after the Woman all by themselves with that map. He was prepared to throw away _everything_ in that moment because of Johnny. His whole _life_ – not just what he had then, but anything he was _going_ to have. _Friends_. A _family_. A **_future_**.

And he couldn't let him. Because Sebastian was dismissive of Jonathan, but he was _outright monstrous_ to Cameron, and Cameron didn't deserve it. Cameron, who never talked back. Who let his father stuff him into small, dark, airless spaces for hours at a time. Who practiced card tricks until his fingers bled so he'd be good enough for their father on stage. Who let their father parade him around like a pet on a leash in front of the world without a word of protest, despite how miserable it made him. Who made up his own version of history that allowed him to ignore how traumatic their lives were under the thumb of the _Great Sebastian Black_ , let the man _torture him_ , all in vain hope that one day, their father would show some modicum of pride or affection in them.

Cameron deserved to be happy. He deserved a life – whatever it entailed – with Kay. With Dina and Jordan and Gunter and Mike and _shit_ – whoever he wanted.

And he was never going to have that or even a _shadow_ of it if he went on the run with Johnny.

But the thought counted. No matter what the Mystery Woman tried to insinuate, when asked what Cameron was willing to give up for his brother – the answer was _everything that he was or would be_.

And Jonathan couldn't let him.

Wouldn't.

So he did the only thing he could think of, cruel as it was, and hoped against hope that in the year they'd been apart, Cameron had found another Daedalus that wouldn't let him fall.

His hand still rested on the panic bar.

If he went through the door, there would be no turning back. He couldn't be sure what the FBI's reaction to him would be. Arrest on sight without listening to him? It seemed to be their standard response. Would they even let him see his brother?

 _Would Cameron even want them to_?

Johnny had only tried to leave Sebastian once. Their eighteenth birthday. Cameron understood he wanted to go, and while he begged him to reconsider, to stay just a little longer – he let him choose his own path.

And instead of being behind the stage when Cameron almost died on live television performing one of their greatest nightmares, he saw it broadcasted in Times Square on fifty-foot screens with strangers around him, insisting it was part of the act.

Cameron was in the hospital in a coma thanks to anoxic brain injury for a week, and Jonathan never tried to leave again.

Johnny took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and counted to ten before pushing open the door, mentally already bracing against whatever was on the other side.

As much as Cameron avoided banks, Jonathan tried to avoid hospitals. The smell, the sounds, the people…the bright white lights that flickered more often than not, the dated furniture, the scuffs on the walls where gurneys hit it in a rush, the reek of antiseptic gauze and alcohol, the 'hospital beige' of the walls, the tacky, dated fabric of the uncomfortable furniture and the constant, ungodly loud pages over the loud speak system. Everything about them was overpowering and just so _omnipresent_ …there was no way to block it out or ignore it. And everything reminded him of moments he would rather forget.

It was part of the reason why he still wore his sunglasses indoors, and why he took the stairs.

The hallway was empty. It was middle of the day though, so it wasn't wholly unsurprising. Not many people could take off time from work to visit friends and family in the hospital even if they wanted to. Evenings and mornings were when it got crowded.

It didn't stop him from feeling like a cat burglar skulking around the hallways as he looked for his brother's room, which fortunately wasn't far. Cameron's name and attending physician were on the placard next to the door, and he couldn't stop the compulsion to ghost his fingers over the bold black letters.

Seeing his brother's name in print always bothered him. Not for the reason people always assumed – which was that he was jealous of his brother's fame – but because it always seemed to diminish him. Cameron was… _life_. He was always so bright, sometimes it was hard to be near him, but that wasn't enough to keep Jonathan away. He was loud, and soft, and always going a million miles a minute like if he paused or even took a breath, whatever he was running from would finally catch him.

The flat dullness of the letters always made him think of a headstone, and for one irrational moment, Jonathan was tempted to rip it from the door, because no one should be able to take the life from Cameron Black.

 _You're losing it, Johnny_.

He opened the door before he could change his mind.

It was almost amazing how little hospital rooms changed over the years, or from place to place. Same smells. Same crappy lighting. Same sounds, despite equipment being upgraded over the years.

Fortunately, Cameron wasn't sharing a room, even though there was another bed. He half expected the ghost of Sebastian Black to be taking up residence in the only chair in the corner, or at least one of Cameron's FBI buddies, but it was empty.

They were alone.

He let the door close behind him with a soft click.

Cameron didn't so much as twitch when the door shut.

There was a good chance he was asleep, but there was something… _off_ about him. Cameron always teased it was Wonder Twin Power, which was absolute crap, but even Sebastian had to admit that the twins always knew when there was something wrong with the other.

"Cam?"

It was barely a whisper, but in the silence of the room, it felt like he was shouting.

Cam didn't move, lying motionless on the bed, twisted awkwardly away from the door and facing the floor to ceiling window that overlooked lower Manhattan.

Jonathan forced himself to move. One foot in front of the other, his hands shoved in his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting. He didn't even know why he was so hellbent on running out of the room. The thumb drive in his pocket held the evidence to clear him and blow open the Woman's entire criminal enterprise. He wouldn't be an escaped criminal anymore.

Just an escaped, wrongfully imprisoned man who betrayed his brother to clear himself.

 _You know why you want to run_ , a traitorous voice whispered in his head.

And deep down, he did. But dammit if he was going to admit it.

He cautiously peeked around the foot of the bed, rising up on his toes to crane his neck to see if Cam's eyes were even open.

They were. Barely. Half slits of storm gray, staring unblinkingly and unfocused at the wall in front of him, but he was at least awake.

"Cameron?"

Still nothing.

Somehow, the nothing was worse than the anger he was expecting and been dreading since he heard about Cameron's transfer directly from prison to Lower Manhattan hospital.

"Cam?"

Cam's gaze flickered over to him for a brief moment and Jonathan braced for the outrage.

Except…

Cameron groaned, less like he was in pain and more like he was annoyed as he ducked his head even closer to his chest as he threw one heavily bandaged hand over his head. "Not _again_ …"

Jonathan blinked. "Again?" he echoed.

"G'way."

"I just got here," Jonathan pointed out.

Cameron shook his head - or, at least, he assumed that's what he did under the bandaged arm. "I d'on wanna play _Ghost of Johnny Past_ anymore. Not even _Scrooge_ saw this many ghosts. 'his is _bullshit_."

"Jesus, what do they even have you _on_?" Johnny muttered, looking up at the IV tree hanging near the bed. The unfortunately familiar drug name made him frown. "Did they even _look_ at your medical record?"

Cameron had a ridiculously low tolerance for pain killers, which was always fun for medical professionals to balance with his equally inverse high tolerance for pain. Ibuprofen was about all he needed, and he even argued over that. The stuff they had him on was more likely to cause issues than solve them.

It also explained why Cameron wasn't as fractionally angry as he was expecting. He doubted he could feel anything at all – physically or otherwise.

"Yeah, well…I couldn't 'member what was yours or mine, soo…" Cameron drawled, throwing his heavily bandaged arm up in a 'oh well' gesture. "Lemme know when 'he walls stop bleedin'."

Johnny failed miserably at keeping the smirk off his face. "That's all on you, dude. No walls bleeding on my end."

Cameron moved his arm just a fraction to be able to peer up at his brother through one glazed eye. "No bleedin' walls?"

Jonathan shook his head.

"Goddammit," Cameron cursed miserably. "F'rst _you_ , now the walls. I _hate_ this." He clumsily grabbed for his pillow, stuffing it over his face as he pulled his legs up almost to his chest, muffled grumbling coming from under the pillow. "I already 'pologized. I'm _sorry_. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_."

Without warning, Cameron threw his hand out, slamming his hand into the raised plastic railing of the bed.

" _I'm sorry, I'm **sorry**_ –"

Before he could hit the railing again, Jonathan grabbed his arms, well below the bandaging, even as his brother tried to pull free of his grip.

"Cam," he tried to get his attention, but whatever the hell Cameron saw instead of him was considerably more distracting. "Cam, _stop._ Stop, and look at me."

Instead of obeying, Cameron abruptly stopped resisting, allowing Jonathan to force his arms down, pinning them to his chest as he threw his head back, panting harshly as if he'd run a marathon. "I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. An' I wish you were here, 'cause I can't do this alone. 'm sorry, but I can't, I _can't_. An' I _know_ it's selfish, and I'm worse than dad, but I wish you were here. I _want_ you here. But it's selfish and I'm sorry and Fake You is better than _Angry_ You but I _no good without you_ and I don't know what to do and I didn't mean to make you think I was gonna make you stay if you didn't want to, and I wasn't going to go back to the show, and I'm _sorry_ –" he trailed off, eyes scrunched shut and breathing hard.

"Cam, open your eyes, and _look at me_." Jonathan was practically laying across his brother's entire upper body, only partially because he was trying to hold Cameron's arms in place. The other reason was he knew from experience hallucinations didn't come with physical weight. Cameron was always the one that had to touch something to know if it was real – magic trick or otherwise.

This close, he could see the purple bruising of his fingertips, could see the rigid way he held them even against his own body.

He didn't know specifics of how he landed himself here, but he could make some pretty educated guesses, given his reactions thus far.

"Cameron, if you won't look at me, you're going to listen to me. Nod if you understand."

Jonathan waited patiently, letting his brother war with the idea of listening to a figment of his imagination. It worked, though, because before he even saw it mirrored on the monitors, he could see his brother fight to control his breathing, slowly relaxing under his grip and after what felt like hours, Cameron very slightly nodded his head.

"Stop apologizing," Johnny demanded. "You didn't do anything wrong. Not then. Not now. Understand?"

Cameron was silent. Whether he was listening, or his drugged brain was trying to muddle through fact versus reality, Jonathan wasn't sure. But at least he wasn't trying to break his hands into even more pieces than they already were.

"I'm sorry I left you there, Cam. I panicked, and you know how bad I am at making things up on the fly. But I'm here now, and I promise you… _promise_ you that I am not going _anywhere_."

Except maybe back to prison if Cam's friends caught him here. He was still a little fuzzy on how the law applied to innocent people escaping wrongful imprisonment, but it hadn't worked out too well for Papillon. Maybe he'd get a nice, isolated island prison, too.

Cameron finally opened his eyes, and though they were glassy and bright, he was at least _looking_ at him with an intensity that would unnerve most people. But he wasn't looking off to the side, or at the walls – Jonathan could watch him trace the shape of him as he tried to cement the idea in his addled mind that _yes_ Jonathan was really here, not another hallucination.

"Johnny?"

He nodded. "In the flesh."

And suddenly his arms were full of Cameron as he launched himself upright with enough force to rock them both back, Jonathan's left hand releasing his grip on his brother to brace them both before Cameron knocked them off the bed.

"I'm sorry I made you leave, I'm sorry I didn't get you out sooner, I'm _sorry_ dad made you be me, I'm _sorry_ I wasn't good enough without you…"

Anything else he said was completely lost in translation as he pressed his face into Jonathan's chest and his heavy coat. The thick bandages made the hug awkward, but Jonathan didn't really care. A weight felt like it was lifted from his chest, finally allowing him to take the first real breath of air since last he saw his brother.

He'd been _so_ afraid that Cameron wouldn't want him anymore. That he wouldn't want to see him, that he would blame him for leaving without a word of explanation, for making him think that he _didn't_ want to escape with him and that he trusted the Mystery Woman even more than his own brother.

For being the monster Sebastian Black had tried to make him into since he was ten years old.

But the words stuck in his throat, and all he could manage was to hold his brother as tightly as he could.

He would've happily stayed like that forever, but as much as the cosmos loved Cameron, it didn't have the same affection for Jonathan.

He could've kicked himself for letting his guard down. Years of paranoia and training drilled into him and he stupidly thought that for just a minute, he and Cameron could just be _brothers_ without having to worry about someone seeing them, or someone finding out, or their father berating them for infraction of his militant rules.

He heard the door open, but he was too focused on Cameron, the weight of him against him and the relief that Cameron couldn't hold a grudge – even against him – too distracting to allow for anything else. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Until someone grabbed him by the back of his collar and yanked him violently away from Cameron. Cameron, who despite having recently broken and maimed hands, still fought to keep his grip on his brother despite the pain it should've caused him.

" ** _No!_** " Cameron protested, even as a far gentler set of hands than the ones on Jonathan pushed him back to the bed.

Jonathan's brain short circuited. Years of self-defense training went completely out the window like it always did when Cameron was in trouble, and suddenly he wasn't a full grown adult capable of getting rid of the unwanted hands that slammed him against the wall, he was eighteen years old – small for their age and too afraid to strike back at less than gentle hands of an adult.

" _What the hell do you think you're doing here_?"

For one horrifying moment, it wasn't an FBI agent holding him, it was Sebastian Black, demanding to know how he dared show his face after his brother had drowned on live television, too distracted by the knowledge that his brother had run away from home to concentrate on overly complicated locks and chains holding him inside a water filled upright coffin.

" _Well?_ " The hand against his chest hurt more than it should've, but he was distracted by the fact that he'd forgotten how to breathe, and it felt like his brain was trying to play catch up to the scene around him.

Cameron was panicking.

Someone was yelling at him.

No, they were yelling at Cameron. _Stay down_ , _you're hurting yourself_.

 _What are you doing here and where is **she**_?

Call the nurses' station, he's freaking out.

Jonathan!

 ** _JOHNNY!_**

" _Let go of me, you're scaring him_ ," Jonathan snarled. And just like that, the world snapped back into focus, no longer bleeding into the ghosts of the past that he thought he'd rid himself of years ago.

Bald Ricky Martin – _Mike_ , he reminded himself – was the agent pinning him against the wall, hand on his holster probably just as much to keep Jonathan from taking his gun as in preparation for having to use it. Kay was the one trying to soothe a damn near hysterical Cameron.

"Pretty sure there's rules about shooting unarmed people in hospitals during visiting hours, buddy."

When Mike frowned, Jonathan almost laughed, because he hadn't intended to say that out loud.

And really, he'd hit a point where it was laugh or cry.

"What are you doing here?" Mike demanded.

InstaAsshole mode activated.

"I thought it was kind of obvious. No wonder you couldn't find the Woman or her organization. Hell, it's a wonder you even found your shoes this morning."

"You're a wanted felon, escaped from a maximum-security prison and last known in association with a murderer and thief. I ask again, _Jonathan_ , what are you doing **here**?"

Jonathan frowned. Mike was upset, but it was more than just anger that he'd shown up after what his disappearance did to Cameron. Why would he…oh.

 _Oh_.

"She's not here. And she _won't_ be."

Like he would let that Woman within a hundred yards of his brother. _Especially_ when he was like this.

Mike didn't move for a moment, gauging Jonathan's statement for any hint of a lie.

"Let go of me," he repeated. "You're _scaring him_."

Mike finally risked taking his eyes away from Jonathan long enough to look back at Cameron and Kay.

Cameron wasn't exactly the most stoic of people, but any rationale he had was robbed of him by the drugs they had him on. Given he was already hallucinating earlier, Jonathan doubted he could tell what was really going on now.

Just that moments after Jonathan promised he was real and wouldn't leave, he'd up and vanished once again.

Mike abruptly dropped his hand, and before it even came to rest at his side, Jonathan was at Cameron's.

"Cam, look at me, _look_ at me…there," he soothed, trying to ignore the look from Kay. "I didn't leave. I promised I wouldn't, and I didn't, okay? But we're gonna see about them dialing back your meds, dude."

Cameron latched onto him with such ferocity he found it hard to breathe again. He could see the look of confusion between Mike and Kay, and he bitterly realized they'd assumed the same thing he had – that the last person on the Earth Cameron would want to see was his brother.

Yeah, well...

The two agents were oddly quiet. Like they were trying to give them a moment of privacy without actually leaving them alone. Where exactly they thought they were going to go was a mystery, but he supposed it was the thought that count. He was half tempted to shout 'alakazam' just to see how they reacted.

At least they weren't automatically dragging him away to lock up.

It was a familiar thing, keeping a hold on an exhausted Cameron, just waiting for him to fall back asleep again, even if he preferred not to have an audience.

Years of being told to stay out of the spotlight, under the radar, away from curious eyes made Jonathan twitchy under intense scrutiny. Like he was about to be punished for letting people see him with his brother and realize that clearly that there were two of them. Allowing him to stay with his brother until the heavy narcotics pulled him under again so he didn't fall asleep thinking he was alone was more of a courtesy than Sebastian ever allowed him.

Still didn't mean he forgave them.

As soon as it was clear Cameron was out again – combination exhaustion and drugs – the two FBI agents started in on the interrogation.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" Kay demanded.

The small part of him that was grateful for all that she'd done for Cameron was eclipsed by the much, _much_ larger part that was incandescent with rage over their last meeting as Jonathan and Kay at the FBI office, not Fake Cameron and Kay in the Archive.

She may not have agreed with the decision to let the Woman go and send him back to prison, but she didn't exactly exert herself defending him, either. And honestly? He was _so fucking **done**_ with being cast as the villain in their story.

"Me? Where was _I_? I was doing **_your_** _job_ , because you suck at it!" Johnny snarled, pulling out a silver thumb drive from his pocket. "I should've never gone to jail in the first place, and I definitely shouldn't have been sent back _twice more_ when you were willing to cut a deal with an _actual_ murderer, who kidnapped my brother, tried to kill him more than once, and barely provided any help for a single case when _I_ helped you solve half a dozen others with Cameron! Where was I?" Johnny snapped. " _Where were **you**_?"

"What is that?" Mike asked, indicating the thumb drive.

"Everything. The missing security footage from the night of the accident. Her plans. Her contracts. Her connections. Her syndicate. _Everything_ you should've been able to find if you'd actually made an effort. I got it off of her before I left."

Kay took it gingerly from his outstretched hand. "Is that…blood?"

Jonathan offered a one shouldered shrug and no explanation. "I didn't say I asked nicely."

"I'll take it to the office," Mike volunteered, holding his hand out for it. "Give them a chance to look it over before we even mention seeing Jonathan. Maybe we can avoid having to go back to prison."

There was a flash of instantaneous suspicion at the quick response and he almost snatched the thumb drive back, but Jonathan reminded himself that the only person besides him who would even know about that drive wasn't able to intercept Mike. Besides. He knew they didn't particularly care about helping _him_ out. He could tell from their shared looks that they were _way_ more concerned about what would happen if Cameron came around again without Jonathan nearby.

Besides. He had three more.

Mike was already on the phone before he'd left the room, telling the office he had evidence to clear him and condemn _her_.

It was a strange thing, to know good people. Who said what they meant and meant what they said.

Kay was quiet for a moment after her partner left, standing off to the side with her arms folded across your chest.

Jonathan wasn't about to break the uneasy silence between them. He'd let her decide if she wanted to listen to him.

"Did you know?" she finally asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"That _this_ would happen?"

No need to guess what _this_ was, as she flicked her gaze towards Cameron and the heavy bandages.

"No," he said, before immediately amending it. "But I knew it might." It was a calculated risk, made with incomplete information and not enough of his own observations. Cameron may have a network of friends that could keep a somewhat unhelpful eye on him, but Jonathan was still the one getting phone calls at all hours – to tell him about a street artist, to ask him existentialist questions about their father's love or lack thereof, to explain Cameron's own feelings in a way he might actually recognize.

Cameron had a tendency to spiral if left by himself. Sebastian made sure of it. While Jonathan had been left to his own devices as long as he wasn't on stage, Cameron had _never_ been left alone. Carefully cultivating and then punishing the same co-dependency between them left Cameron perpetually at odds with himself, and with no down time to simply _be_ , he'd never had a chance at figuring out who he was when not on stage. Emotions were tricky, traitorous minefields for him that Sebastian had made sure he would be completely unable to navigate on his own, which was its own brand of cruelty because Cameron felt _everything_. He just didn't know what it was. And without being able to put a name to it, coming up with a way to process it was impossible. If he had to constantly ask Sebastian or Jonathan what something meant, it meant he had no secrets, and left Sebastian able to easily manipulate his son into falsely identifying emotions like anger. Guilt. Love.

And if he could push and pull Cameron however he wanted, Jonathan was sure to follow.

He'd just hoped that maybe Sebastian's psychological terrorism had been supplanted by Cameron's new friends and team.

Guess they finally had proof that even Jonathan Black could be wrong about things.

"Then why?"

Big question. Jonathan didn't know if he could explain it even if he wanted to. So he did what he usually did. Gloss over and leave things vague.

"You weren't going to catch _her_. And she'd already tried to kill Cam more than once. So I did what I had to, to put an end to it."

"And by end…?"

Jonathan didn't answer, and Kay didn't push. Perhaps they had an understanding after all. She did say she would do _anything_ to get her sister back, and she'd seemed oddly okay with the idea that who she thought was Cameron was about to break a felon out of super max.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you would be the one he wanted to see," she said softly.

"I would've been here if Cam wanted me to be or not." He just wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't. Jonathan was _spectacular_ about getting around unnoticed when he needed to. Living as a shadow had its perks.

Kay gave him a strange look and suddenly Jonathan thought maybe he'd said too much. Given too much away. "That sounds like penance," she observed. "You were only gone for three days. Cameron never did explain what happened between you two."

Everything. And nothing. The damnable misery of it was that Jonathan wasn't even sure where he stood with his brother. Not really. While he was wildly hallucinating, he seemed happy enough to see him, but that didn't mean he'd _still_ be happy to see him when he sobered up.

But then, knowing Cam, he'd find a way to think it was his fault.

What happened between the two of them?

"Dad ruined us," Jonathan said softly. "I knew it. And I left him anyway."

* * *

Author's Note: So, I actually wasn't planning on how this turned out. I had a single line (the last one in the story) that I wanted to use, and it took 6000 words to be able to find a place to do it. I also wasn't expecting Cameron's reaction to play out the way it did, but the more I tried to write it with Cameron either angry or upset, it just didn't sound right. I'm still not even sure about Kay and Mike's reactions, but the thing had already turned out three times the length of the first chapter and I decided to stop tweaking and adding to it. Also - even after rewatching the series, I'm a 100% positive that Jonathan has no feelings towards Mystery Woman beyond he's mad at how well she played the game and the two of them. I feel like anyone who grew up with Sebastian Black would be able to recognize emotional blackmail and manipulation in a nano second.

And yes, I do plan on finishing Consequence and Mirrors. Though like I said (and like you can tell from this story) I really like dark, DARK story lines, and I'm definitely toying with the idea of stolen Nazi art and human sacrifice for Mirrors. Feel free to come drop me a line on tumblr disappearinginq (Especially guests who have specific questions or comments they would like answered - this really is the last chapter to this and now I'm onto Mirrors).


End file.
